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Shephard

Life is strange.

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April’s Fool / The Journey to October.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

In two weeks time it will have been six months that I’ve lived here in Australia. Friday the 13th is meant to be a day of superstitious hoo-doo and what-not, but the day I arrived here – and all that time since – has been the complete opposite. From initial fears of being away from everyone I know and love, to the adjustment period of getting re-acquainted with the nasally Australian accent – the going has been somewhat tough, but I have, without a doubt, well and truly settled in.

Two months into my new job, and I’m loving every moment of it. Sure, I do clash with the “eat-arse” beat-around-the-bush culture they have, and a few job delegations have left me scratching my head, but for the most part it’s an awesome company to be a part of. The management are firm, fair, and always looking to see you better yourself. My colleagues are an awesome bunch who never clash – in fact, this is one of only two work places I’ve been in where your peers around you are more than happy to lend a hand if you’re in a bit of a pickle. The important part for me is that I continue to just keep my head down and do my job – no screwing around, no dereliction of duties.

I have stable employment at a job I love, and I’m making a decent amount of money. What more can a person ask for?

A place to call my own

Whilst it’s true that I enjoy the company of others, it has gotten to the part where my own mental well-being is beginning to suffer from the incompetence of my… “friend”. Heaven have mercy on his future ex-wife, because this fella wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “clean” even if a Catholic nun bathed him in methylated spirits. Seriously: what kind of heathen puts clean and dirty washing in the same basket?! I could go on, but at the risk of y’all losing even more faith in humanity, I’ll spare you the details.

A new place is on the cards, and that is a priority tasking to say the least. There’s a few nice apartments not far from where I work, so I will have to look into those more intently in the coming weeks. It’s a simple matter of having my own space which I know I can maintain all on my own. Having the freedom to set up a record player in the lounge, a bookcase near the lounge suite, and a small gym in a studio room or such. None of that I can do here; if for no other reason than the fact that I don’t like the layout of this bloody unit. A bathroom that doesn’t smell like a bloody kennel would be nice, too.

…and perhaps once I do have my own place, I can actually entertain some guests.

I’ve made a few friends here already, and have gotten the chance to see a bit more of Sydney in good company. There’s a lot more to this city than I first expected, and I’m really looking forward to seeing even more of it. Making friends is never easy as someone with certain aspects of themselves that they wish to keep under wraps, but allowing yourself the opportunity to interact and feel a part of something once again is an action you must take. “One foot in front of the other” as they say.

~

We’re shifting into winter here, and word is the weather ends up being almost as miserable as back home – which I’m looking forward to after the 40+ Celsius days I’ve had here already. With the seasonal change comes a hopeful change in myself – I somehow managed to eat enough chicken pasta that I now weigh 100 kg. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was still as active as I was in late 2016, but that is not the case at this time. Despite that all, I have the knowledge and drive to better myself once again; all it takes is discipline.

The next six months leading up to my birthday will be nothing short of challenging. But I know I will be rewarded at the end of it – in some rather obvious ways, and in ways which I’ll only be able to discern after some time has passed. Stepping up to the plate and doing my best is what I know I can do, but that hasn’t always been the case. But now – far away from home and on my own (so to speak) – I have no choice but to give it my all and stay the course.

By my actions I’ll be known.

Just finished digging my “friend’s” grave. I’m only kidding of course… Maybe…

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General

Cockatoos & Cashed-up Bogans: Life Across the Ditch.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

Sydney.

It’s too fuckin’ hot here. No wonder the locals are all bloody miserable.

I miss my superwine biscuits, and tea. The bastard I’m living with is a lazy son of a *****, who continues to avoid doing his fair share of work – his fuckin’ room makes me sick. I suppose the locals are nice enough though. Aside from the questions about my accent that is.

*sigh* Here I am, cleaning up the mess made by someone else. Were it not for my mild(ish) OCD, this house would remain a radioactive wasteland. Bastard…

I have my GTFO fund in case my compensation ends and I still have no job, since Kiwis are treated worse than refugees over here. I just *love* how our governments keep talking up that whole ANZAC spirit bullshit when we all know that it hasn’t meant shit since 1915. So, in saying that, this will more than likely end up being an extended holiday – then I can return home and die afterwards without anyone knowing I even went back.

~

To the post office tomorrow morning, so I can get this tax file number sorted out. I’ll only need to get my ID card after that, then I should be good to go regarding employment opportunities. But otherwise… it’s just gonna be another lonely day at home.

I suppose I’d best get the surrounds squared away tomorrow, after I’ve done my wind sprints that is.

Take it easy, team.

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General

In Silence and Solitude.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

It’s a little warm outside, but here in my corner the air remains chilled to the bone.

Me. The corner. My thoughts.

Things could’ve been different… yet here I am. Fighting to stay alive, only to live in even more pain. The kicker to it all? I brought this upon myself.

I’ll quit my whining soon enough.

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General

Requiem Aeternam.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

[Weapon canted to the left]

– Working parts cocked fully to the rear and back to the front
– CLAP the feed tray cover open
– SWEEP LEFT removing rounds from the tray
– SWEEP RIGHT to ensure no rounds or debris are still in the tray
– SLAM the feed tray cover shut, weapon in the shoulder

[Trigger squeezed, no shot should be fired]

[Weapon canted to the right]

– CLAP the feed tray cover open
– REPLACE the ammunition belt into the feed tray, inline with the feed claws
– SLAM the feed tray cover shut
– Weapon in the shoulder, working parts actioned fully rear to front
– GPS — Tap the GAS plug to ensure its still seated, close the ejection PORT cover, ensure your SIGHTS are still at the correct zero

[Weapon away from the shoulder, await FCO]

The 7.62mm Light Support Weapon (equivalent to the American M240B in application and Mk. 48 in appearance — oddly enough, the LSW weighs more than the MAG58/M240 when loaded) will always be my favourite weapon. Sure, it weighs the same as a few bags of cement and kicks like Ong Bak on a good day, but boy does she tear shit up…

~

Funny how I can remember every little detail about a weapon I haven’t touched in four years, and yet I often forget to take my essentials with me when I venture out into the world. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve arrived at my destination, only to realise an important document or something to that effect has been left back at the house — and that’s despite reminding myself a countless amount of times the prior evening not to forget it. Even thinking about the number of examples I can give has me feeling terrible. Golly gosh…

I’ll stop after the Analytics course. Thankfully this information is easily retained, and that I’m keeping PDF versions of all transcripts for reference. But, no more study after this. I don’t want to live here anymore. This world, this lonely, lonely existence. The responsibilities I never asked for, yet carry out regardless. The constant pain, and internal sorrow. The inability to connect with my peers (and believe me, I’ve fuckin’ tried). The knowledge that the future, though uncertain, is sure to bring more pain and torment than I’m able to deal with.
I’ve done more than I thought I was capable of, and continue to do so in some vain attempt at maintaining the initiative. Well, I reckon I ought to put a stop to that shit right quick, eh? Why bother bettering myself so that some self-serving company can exploit me for all they can in the name of hard work? Do I really want to find myself in another office, working in an environment I know I can’t thrive in? Is jumping ship really going to see a marked improvement in my own situation, and of those I care about?
These are all questions I’ve asked myself a lot in the past few months. One common theme is that of not having anything in support of continuing to live and making these proposed changes. Now, mind you, this was a heck of a lot to process, so don’t you for a second think that I just pulled this out of my arse because “I can’t cope” or some such tripe.

I won’t go back to the hard stuff. There’s no need to when the doc gives me good enough stuff, but the sensation is still the same — euphoria, constant nodding, good feelings all around. No constipation nor the “opiate itch” either, which is a real plus. I may put this all in a bad light, but the fact remains that I’m able to function whilst under the influence, and often forget just how miserable my circumstances are.

…provided I stay within acceptable dosage levels that is.

~

It’s been two years since I went to this part of the ranges. I had a bit of a trek through there yesterday, seeing as they’re thinking of shutting the entire centennial park down due to the dieback disease spreading amongst the kauri trees. The last time I was here I took a few pictures, so I decided to do the same again. It brought back certain memories, but it felt good being in nature again. I even managed to see a tui bathing itself for a good few minutes, before I stumbled on a rock and scared the poor fella away. I hadn’t seen a tui in the longest time either…
I was at home in nature, in the ranges I’ve tramped across countless times. The quiet serenity of nature in all her beauty, and not a single soul to disturb me. Once again, I could bear witness to nature and that from which we came — and to which I shall return.
I could never imagine being that beautiful, but being one part of the entire picture? Yes, perhaps. I can only hope that nature would be so kind as to repurposing my broken corpse into something as beautiful as a kauri tree, or kakapo for that matter. My homeland is truly magnificent, the culture behind it more so. Most have forgotten that connection, but I’ve still kept it — thanks to my family who are no longer here.

I won’t head to Australia. I don’t think I could bring myself to actually live in that bloody place anyhow. Another remnant of 2015 was that of travelling through my country and revisiting places I hadn’t been to in quite some time. So, that’s what I’ll do. With my government assistance ending soon, I’ll be financially set until around Christmas time. I’ll travel from Cape Reinga right down to… Christchurch I reckon. Hadn’t been through there since Burnham and the quakes, and despite my thoughts on the city and its people, I’d do well to pay my respects to those who were lost.
Tauranga remains one of my favourite places, and with summer just around the corner, it ought to be a good time to cruise through the Mount. The Pacific side of the Far North is a sight to behold — the Bay of Islands, and curving back around to Kerikeri ought to do it. Marlborough Sounds and the small town of Picton were a pit stop for me back in ’10, but it seemed like quite the quaint area. The Sounds were gorgeous — from the ferry, in the air, and on foot. Taupo near the lake and Central Plateau. She’ll be chilly, but I’ve always loved that part of the country.

No matter where I go, I just want to enjoy myself. My mind is made up on opting out afterwards — this life of mine, and this world of ours… I’m the round peg still doing its best to squeeze into a damned square hole. Story of my life, all things considered…

“Because I want to see people and I want to see life.”

Not in some futile hope that it’ll convince me that there’s more to this life than the rat race, but because I want to see what it is that keeps others tethered.

“I’m flyin’ to the moon again, dreamin’ about marzipan. Taking all my medicine to take my thoughts away.”

Lady Del Rey… always knows what’s on my fuckin’ mind. Those two lines right there — something sweet, something sour. Sugar, spice, and all things not so nice; just the recipe I needed.

~

My lust for life withered out and died long ago. That sensation of lust long forgotten, along with whatever sex drive I once had. I think about my friends, about those who no longer talk with me, and those who have long since left this world. All I should do is send my thoughts, my love, through the ether, and hope it’ll guide them through the trials they’re all still yet to face. They’re strong, resilient, and know how to adapt to this world and what it’ll throw at them.

All I can say to myself and anyone who’ll bother paying me the courtesy of reading my nonsense is this: everything is gonna be okay.

“I hope that I come back one day. To tell you that I really changed, baby.”

…because I know the universe is cruel enough to keep my soul tethered here long after my physical form has become worm food or fertiliser. Instead of being ghosted, I’ll be the one doing the haunting. Heh.

But seriously: everything is gonna be okay.

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General

Fairies Wear Boots? Yeah, and “AH-64D Apache Longbow” is a Gender.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

101613 Aug 17 (I drafted this earlier today)

– Innovation and Information Technology Management course completed. Pass mark of 92% with four submissions made to community discussion forum. Handouts/transcripts deemed essential to maintaining the knowledge gained from this course have been stored via cloud storage.

– Tomorrow (Friday) slated as rest day. Rolling refresh of foodstuffs and hygiene products to be made at local supermarket.

– Headaches still… problematic. Continuing to manage with strong pain relief and adequate rest. No remarkable change in either symptoms or relief.

– Serviceability checks to be conducted on Mossberg shotgun, Gerber LMF II knife, and field equipment. These have not been serviced in a sustained period of time.

– Next training courses to be conducted: QPR Foundational (Suicide Prevention), Google Analytics, Supply Chain Management. Possibly others.

~

The irony of a suicidal idiot training to prevent others from taking their own lives… Mein Gott!

I don’t like hiding behind this façade of mine. But I know the people around me wouldn’t be able to comprehend what I’m really like. Y’all know what I’m like, so that’s all good. It’s rather difficult trying to sustain some semblance of a social life however, but it’s not an actual priority at this time.

I took a double dose of pain meds @ 1116 hours this morning; it’s now 0043 hours and I’m still in rolling waves of good feelings. No headaches, no other pain issues. Yet I can’t go on forever like this. It’s what I’ve been reduced to, and I’ll never like that fact. It wouldn’t be too hard to overdose on these bloody things seeing how powerful they are… but I’ve still got a job to do.

…for now.

I need a dose of civilisation tomorrow, ‘fore I forget how miserable things really are out there. I have some clothing to donate to the Salvation Army, along with a few other odds and ends which someone may find useful. Savemart (recycled clothing outlet) should have changed their stock since the last time I was there back in January. Wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a nice black trench coat, and maybe another scarf. Mm… Maybe the Middle Eastern store would have a few shemagh in stock — my old green/black one has bloody had it. I should probably shave as well…

I’d have liked to visit the ranges once more, possibly camp out on the trail again. That Avison girl opted out not too far from where I usually tramp through. Back in February… a couple years younger than me… working a job she did well at, with friends/family who seemed to care about her. Still didn’t stop her from shooting herself though. I saw pain in her eyes, much like I did with W.

W…

Three years now. Time sure does fly… Couldn’t find the sister down in Upper Hutt either. Wouldn’t even know what to say. Best left unsaid I reckon. Still have the picture she sent me, still have the herald with her picture on it. Still hear her voice in my head when things get too quiet:

“I don’t know what to do…”

“Uh, an honest attempt [at getting better]? What d’you think I’ve been doing for the past twelve years?!”

“…that means you’re a good person… and you have a heart”.

I wish you were right about that, W.

~

Time for sleep. On a slowly deflating, inflatable mattress, in the dark corner of a marginally warm room.

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General

Paradise Lost, Dystopia Found.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

Years have now passed since that fateful time
Yet those moments still haunt me within memories I cannot forget
Ignorance at the fact and of those events
Do little to quell the emotions within
At once the fuel to the rage and fire blackening my soul
Now strengthens and guides my resolve
“Don’t look back in anger” nor let it seep into the path ahead
But let it be a part in forging the roads on which you shall travel tomorrow

Those words left unspoken should be etched on my grave
Carried to my death and burdening until the end
A centrepiece of dream scapes and many a restless night
Unable to silence nor suppress the urge to relent
Words left unspoken in fear of what I do not know
Yet inside the knowledge is already there
Here I will remain wasting away into the nothingness from which I came
There in the distance she will forever live on

~

Four courses down, four more to go. Barely holding it together as is thanks to the constant migraines. No time (or strength) for anything but studying and trying to look after myself. I was strong at the end of last year. Now… I’m just another fat ****. Haven’t socialised in donkey’s years, and don’t plan on doing so either.
I don’t like watching my country fall apart, rampart with poverty and suicide. A few weeks back I observed a young fella not much younger than myself digging through the bins outside the local KFC as his friends watched on; hopeful for a bite to eat. This was in the middle of the busiest road in the country, adjacent to a large shopping complex. If I wasn’t on the bus, I’d have offered to buy them something. But seeing that, and many other examples during this year… The young, the old… Men, women, and even children…

That’s not to comment on the number of suicides either. We have the worst youth suicide rate in the “developed” world, and yet these idiots down here still wonder why. Huh. That last bit in and of itself is one reason why — perhaps even the reason why. Whilst everyone else is wondering “why, oh why?”, folks such as myself are already sending tiny bits of our brain skyward.
If I commit suicide now, it’s because I know and understand in both heart and soul that I cannot continue to contribute in any meaningful way. Not because I’m lonely, or sick of my gammy leg and the constant migraines. My own self worth is measured by what I can contribute to others, and whether or not it impacts them in a positive way. But given today’s society and the virtue of “instant gratification”, that matters very little in a world where the power of one supersedes that of the empowerment of many.

~

Another thought: In recent weeks I’ve found myself plagued by thoughts of those from my past. I’ve made mention of them here many times through my old posts. One in particular I had told myself I’d contact again if ever I managed to get back on my feet and ensure I was in a good place. As luck would have it, this person has begun to haunt my dreams these past few weeks and it’s really starting to bug me. I do think, however, that this is a good thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re reading this post right now.

~

With an election in a month’s time and no end in sight for my country’s suffering, I find myself disheartened at the slightest thought of this nation’s ills. Voting out the liberals and bringing back the leftist idiots who failed to secure social reforms and institute proper economic stimuli won’t solve any issues. Nor will keeping those liberal bastards in power for that matter. The Westminster style of government is a sight better than that constitutional republic you Spams have to suffer with; but it doesn’t help that we have the same idiots in power half way across the world as you fellas do.

…the fuck am I talking about anyway — I don’t even vote.

If it ever comes to pass that I jump ship to the land of smelly drop bears and horrible taste in alcohol (not to mention terrible pricing), and I do happen to put myself on a stable footing, able to contribute to the community around me — I might just be happy with that. If that doesn’t happen though… Well, let’s just wait and see, eh?

Tomorrow will come, and with it she’ll bring her own set of problems. Men and women of all ages will continue to opt-out of this frightful life. The streets and those who live off of them and the refuse they supply will remain an afterthought of all who travel by their domain. But today, as with most days in this sick nation that I call home; it’s just another day in paradise.

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General

This is Your Heart — Don’t Let it Tear You Apart.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

~

Life now is but a constant stream of memories, distorted by the harshness of reality. When sentimentality is your affliction, only the facts will sober you up from your misguided ways. That’s all it amounts to once the dust settles — being misguided, and going against your better judgement.

That’s all I amounted to.

But things have changed. For better or (hopefully not) worse, I have no choice but to discard my old self and embrace a new path moving forward. The path I was always meant to take, but shied away from due to an acute case of loverboy syndrome. Despite it all being in vain; I might as well make the most of it while I still can.

~

The track above is “Shelter” by The xx. Recorded off my Technics turntable and provided for your listening pleasure. The following is my interpretation of parts of the lyrics — make of it what you like.

Can you hear, when I say? I have never felt this way

I’d said that once with any real meaning, and it still remains true for the time when I’d said it. That will be one feeling I’ll never be able to replicate; nor do I want to. Unique only to that relationship, that feeling which I felt I shall never feel again.

I still want to drown, whenever you leave. Please teach me gently, how to breathe

Infatuation is both an intoxicating high and soul-crushing low. It’s thanks to my heart that I never truly understand this feeling, and the reason why I’ll avoid it as much as I can going forward. I s’pose if I ever do forget to breathe in future, someone can just give me a good slap on the arse and I’ll be sweet.

And I’ll mirror images back at you. So you can see the way I feel it too

It’s those unspoken words which only your body can speak that really say the most. In fact, those are the very which I pay attention to the most. Although in today’s social media-centric society it’s becoming a lost art. Where teenage girls are running around pretending to cough into their arm from smoking left over resin; you’d wonder why they’d look at someone weirdly for noticing their lips pert at the sight of their companion.

I find shelter, in this way. Under cover, hide away

Shelter from overexposure to the horrors of modern society. Under the covers of my oft-stoic disposition. A hide away for my heart; so it may never lead me astray again.

Compassion and understanding will always be my foremost personal qualities, and I’ll continue to display them for as long as I may live. But knowing the darkness which almost snuffed me out the last time — I shall endeavour to not let my heart get involved. One day, if I happen to live to an age of greater understanding of myself, I may let it back in. But until then; under cover I’ll remain.

(…or y’know, hiding in the bush somewhere.)

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General

Musings of a Pill Popping Loser – Part III: This War of Ours.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it”.

– Terry Pratchett

Look after yourself; look after one another. Best of luck to you all.

– T

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General

Begin Again… Let Go.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

…can’t believe it’s almost my fuckin’ birthday again. Either I have something to show for it this time around or I… end up hating myself even more. But seeing that I’ve been at war with myself for the past decade; the latter seems the most likely to happen.

“All you need is some peace while you are here” — That’s a tall order for someone who’s been surrounded by violence in one form or another since their birth, Ms. Grant. I’ll carry your words though.

~

The first week of September will mark the start of my “internship” (as you Spams would call it) at an IT firm in the more affluent part of my fair city, which figures since the people I saw at the place looked like a bunch of wimps and… Well, they looked like typical civilians, since I really must say so. I’ll need the soothing vocals of Ms. Grant caressing my mind, or else I’ll nut out and kill someone. Not because I’m a psychopath, but because people just don’t get it! Whether you try to ease their way of thinking carefully into how you operate or make them understand, you won’t win. That being said, I’ll behave myself and get as much experience as I can… but the first person who looks at me sideways or makes any snide comments about me is gettin’ thrown through a fuckin’ window and a couple broken bones. I know I’m fuckin’ weird — you don’t need to remind me, fuckwit.

“You have a right to live your life” — Too bad that not every person nor situation will accommodate that fact. Nor do i suspect that that was ever really the case for me. Living in service to, because of, and for others doesn’t sound like living at all. Not as an individual anyway. I simply exist to persist; and I’m nothing if not a persistent bastard. Shame on me.

~

Earlier this year I’d catch the morning bus to course. There was a red-haired girl with the cutest freckles I ever did see who caught the same bus. I’d tell myself I caught the bus because I needed to rest my foot, but truth is I just caught it to sit beside her (and fah fook’s sake Tommy, ’twas only ah ten minnut hike, ya bastahd!). Once I was beside her, I didn’t say shit. I’d programmed myself to not establish any interpersonal relations with anyone, despite the one “glitch” I had with the trainee flight attendant at around the same time (which ended very quickly once a hotfix was deployed for said glitch), so nothing came of it. Still, it’s hard to forget a redhead… and sadly she hadn’t forgotten me. As I made a mad dash for my bus on Thursday just gone, we made eyes for but a few seconds. My face said “oh shit, she’s seen me!” as her’s had the look of “…there you are!” She looked surprised. Shocked, even. But with a hint of happiness. Personally I blame my fuckin’ suit, or perhaps… perhaps my decision to wear my red tie that day… *X-files theme plays*


A few hours went by and I returned to the city. I happened upon a record store which sells stuff mainly by local artists, so I decided to try my luck and get a particular record by a favourite Kiwi band of mine. Long story short: they had the record, and I fell in love with the girl who served me. Too bad I was being a fuckin’ weird **** again… But I did say I’d be back next week to pick up a few more records. At least this time I won’t look like a moron and actually be focused on her amazing hazel eyes and awesome taste in– I mean, just the music, yes… Y’know, I’m going to stick to the no friendship/relationship thing for a long time to come. Reason: I’m still not happy with my life, or myself. Getting outsiders involved in that is just asking for trouble. It’s good to dream; just remember to wake up.

Lastly, I could always have a proper stroke and die anyway. Way I see it is that everyone will click into place for me, I’ll branch out to make new friends and progress with my career. Once it’s all going smoothly, I’ll die. Oh yeah, you can fuckin’ laugh at me for talking like that, but that’s the feeling I get from this whole fiasco I’m dealing with. Things just feel too right for something not to go wrong. I say this because my head still doesn’t feel right, and truth be told — it probably never will feel right again.

“Just let go of it all, dear” — Don’t lemme hear that in my sleep, because I just might do so.

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Fun & Interesting

Lunar-tic.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3P2o5gryfs&w=320&h=180]

…anywhere but here, dammit.

No time for the hospital today. Still have plenty of unfinished business to tend to, along with really not having the energy to move anywhere on my own. Did I really just say that? Holy sheep shit… the world is most definitely coming to an end if Mister Walkabout himself doesn’t even want to move. Must be a sign of the times, or a kick in the daddy bags to remind me that I’m not invincible. It’s all a little odd when I really start to process it properly, y’know? I haven’t been a stable kind of “happy” for a very long time, and that came undone due to me being as I am now — defiant ignorant of the truth that is currently breaking my ankle squeezing the life out of my brain.

The difference back then was that I pushed myself to see if I could handle it. Some three years later and I can safely say: “no, you can’t”. What makes now any different to the struggle and surgeries of the past few years? For starters — and as I mentioned above — this particular condition can drop my sorry arse like a bad habit. There’s a family history of it, spanning six generations and having not skipped a single one. Worst of all however is the fact that I’ve seen people affected and taken by it. Those who’d gotten on in years, and those who were still in their prime. I’m still not sure whether I fit into either category or if I’m a category all of my own. “Suicidal loser with no life and the unrelenting desire to die”. Yeah, that sounds about right.

A double-edged decider where either I can take action and thus prolong my sorry life, or let the universe strike me down and grant me eternal rest now until the end of time. I s’pose at this rate it’ll end up making this decision for me, and I wouldn’t mind that one bit. No, ma’am.

There comes a time in your own travels where you know for certain that you need to just stop and let the world carry on. Take a nap on a grass verge near a lake and just… drift away. That is the point I now find myself at. That is what my life has come down to. I am happy with this outcome and accept it wholeheartedly. Because let’s face it, with the world in the state it’s in right now and my own personal life being that of nothing — anywhere is better than here.

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Coping Skills

Here But For the Grace of Aspirin.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QM5pPuFcJw0&w=320&h=180]

Whenever I venture out in public, I make it a habit to carry my bag with an aid kit and a 1.5 litre bottle of water, along with a host of expendables and other oddities. Within the aid kit is a good stock of bandages, antiseptic cream/wipes and a suture kit. Airway masks, wound pads for sucking chest wounds and saline tubes with the means to mainline it to someone in dire need of hydration. Assorted medicines such as paracetamol, ibuprofen and opiate-based analgesics. But one medicine I have used on more than one occasion to good effect is aspirin — something I never leave the house without. I’d do that as a matter of knowing that a stroke can strike anyone at any time. It doesn’t give two fucks if you’re in the middle of lunch or simply browsing your email at your work computer. It’ll hit you and you’ll have absolutely no way of hitting back. I’ve seen it strike down real fit cunts and lazy bastards alike whether young or old, which is why you have to respect an enemy that’ll tear down anyone it pleases, knowing fully that it can pick off who it likes at will.

I guess it doesn’t surprise me that I’d end up having a fuckin’ stroke. A small one at that, but a stroke nonetheless. Getting on the train I felt my entire right side grow limp. Usually if it’s anything to do with my lower leg I’ll discount it, but once I felt it creep up my arm and strangle me around my neck… I couldn’t pop that damn aspirin any quicker without opening a wormhole or some shit. That had to be the longest train journey of my life, and I’m thankful the carriage was empty so I could monitor myself on my own. It was a slow death march walking to the bus and getting to the hospital, but I got there eventually. Overnight stay, follow-up appointments scheduled and a host of other formalities organised — I only wanted out of the place, if for no other reason than to spare me the sight of concerned medical staff.

Fast forward two weeks and I still don’t feel recovered in the sense that I personally believe I won’t run the risk of either a repeated or much worse attack. My right arm is still fucked, as in I can’t feel the part between my elbow, which makes benching and push ups more psychedelic than they ought to be. My neck tightens up on the right from time to time, almost as if someone is trying to choke the life outta me. My heart doesn’t feel like it used to, that’s for sure. I s’pose the most concerning part is the headaches and associated trauma, which makes sense when you consider that a stroke is the result of a lack of blood reaching your brain. All these signs and symptoms… Well, to be honest I prayed to the flying spaghetti monster for a brain tumour, but the universe with its sick sense of humour gave me this instead. Ah well, I’ll make the most of it.

Think I’ll go out for breakfast tomorrow. Haven’t really been eating much lately, and need a decent feed if I’m gonna drag my sorry arse to the hospital. I know how my body operates and I do not feel good. Not so much the post stroke symptoms, but my head. I shouldn’t still be having headaches two months after they started. Bite the bullet and let them nuke my head so they can see what’s going on in there? Risky, but necessary I’m guessing. We’ll see.

I’m out of aspirin as it just so happens.

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GeneralStories of Loss

Musings of a Pill Popping Loser – Part II: If Only I Weren’t Lonely.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

Hurry up and fuckin’ wait — oh, how I despise that phrase/former way of life. I don’t like sitting ’round on my arse doing nothing (besides exam prep) but that’s what I’ll have to do for now. Things should be bearable as long as these folks working my case stop making it all about money and meeting these stated outcomes of theirs, because otherwise I’m going to turn violent… and that won’t end well for whoever happens to be on the receiving end of my violent gestures.

…but I’m not a violent person by nature. Of course not. I’d much prefer to reach a compromise via dialogue or appeal to the good nature of the other party concerned; but the truth is there is no good-natured individuals who take up the role of lord and master over those who don’t have the power to fight back — for fear of losing the only remaining support they have left. For the next two months I shall remain optimistic but aware of the fact that things could go tits-up in the blink of an eye.

I really hate this fuckin’ world.

~

I’ve set myself a little personal milestone with regards to the compensation process I started back in December, which for most folks is sorted within a month yet here I am almost four entire fuckin’ months later. Here’s the thing: either I’m getting a lot of money or I’m getting nothing at all. That’s no exaggeration on either side of that spectrum as that’s the advice given by my doctor and what makes the most sense from other cases I’ve read about. I’m giving it till the end of April before I actually contact those monkeys down-the-line, but I’m hoping to receive something by then.
If I really won’t be receiving anything, then that’s okay. I’m more than capable of living a little while longer before the madness blows my brains out. But… But… If I happen to receive financial compensation from the guv’ment and it happens to be a substantial amount, I’ll be able to appropriate funds to’rds the following in this order:

– Paying off my one and only debt
– Securing my own apartment
– Helping find a job (preferably as a civilian IT technician for the service)
– Purchasing an assault rifle and putting 30 rounds of Mk. 262 5.56 through the head of that moron who calls himself my cousin’s boyfriend
– Saving the rest for later use

That’s the gist of things anyway, and I won’t expand on them right now. More than anything, receiving compensation for the injury I’ve endured will do a lot to motivate me to carry on with life and capitalise on the recent qualifications I’ve earnt — and I’d even consider investing a small amount to finish off the diploma study of mine.

As with most all things in life; it’ll just take time.

~

I need to make a new friend in the next month. Some folks I’ve met these past few months have been good, but I need someone I can connect with on the regular and who I can properly confide in, as they will surely be able to confide in me. I doubt I’d meet anyone from here and that’s okay, but I’ll figure something out. I usually do. It’d be nice to know someone I can meet up with for a hot cuppa on a chilly Friday morning on the waterfront or something, y’know? So hopefully I will meet someone in the meantime — it’d do wonders for my sanity.

Securing compensation.
Securing a friend.
Securing my future.

There’s not much else I could ask for as a man, and I’d be quite the smiling soul if I were to secure the above. But even if I do fail, there’s a deer slug with my name on it that’ll put me out of my misery for good.

Yes, ma’am.

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GeneralStories of LossSuicidal Survivors

Musings of a Pill Popping Loser – Part I: C3I

by Shephard
written by Shephard

You never forget that smell, no matter how long you go with or without it, it’s always there in your memory banks. Waking up that dark Friday morning in a hotel room just down the road from the Sky Tower, I looked across to see her cuddled up against me — our bare bodies covered only by a single sheet as the heat from the night before kept us snug and warm. But the smell of sweet, sweet love just so happened to pierce my nose, and with it came an epiphany of sorts. Could my future really lie within denouncing the one value I’ve always held in high regard about myself? Am I seriously going to let this happen again and again, whilst slowly losing grip of everything I respect about myself? Is this truly the year of “Monkey business?”

Shifting out of the shower and putting on my suit that I’d just pressed the night before, the woman in the bed poised herself upright, sitting back on her knees and looking at me intently. As I adjusted my cuffs and straightened myself out, she gestured for me to hither unto her, giving me a kiss before I left out the door. But scenarios like the aforementioned only ever occurred for me in a committed relationship, where I knew I’d be returning home later that day to someone I love. This was different in every way — we have never expressed feelings of love to each other and this was the first time we’d even met each other.

Yet here we were.

Sitting in class for the last time chatting with the team, I glanced at the messages on my phone to see that she’d sent a picture to me, with the message: “come back to bed”. I didn’t need to see the picture to know what the context was, but once again I encountered yet another moral dilemma, and with this I finally admitted to myself something that I’ve known for a long time now — in order to maintain my own personal integrity and stay true to myself, my commitment should shift to that of non-committal relationships. Because the truth of the matter is I am the bestest friend that you’ll ever have, whether you’re a guy or girl, but I am your worst fucking nightmare at being a romantic partner for no other reason than to say that I’ll never live up to the expectations I’ll set myself for you.

Courage. Comradeship. Commitment. Integrity.

These were the values instilled in, and honed by, the army whilst I served, and I lived and breathed these values each and every day that I put on my uniform; and all it took was three nights with a friend for me to bring my own core guidelines into disrepute. But y’know what? I loved it and I have no doubt that I will do it again. Having dinner with her that last night at that swanky new restaurant serving dishes from N’awlins sealed the deal in that regard. (The fried chicken and potato salad was divine…)

I am a loser, as you all know damn well.

~

I’m sure my friends from here will think less of me, and that’s okay because you need to see what I’m becoming — my eventual downfall and devolution into what I always will be. I have some stuff to sort out tomorrow but I’ll probably spend the week drafting another post looking for a friend on a certain corner of the internet, and as always I’ll be truthful with what I write and do so with the vivacity that most folks here have come to know, and I am confident that I’ll be with another friend in a fortnight’s time — establishing my wants, satisfying my needs.

Thank you Tess (my ex), for making me realise that you were right all along. Without your guidance, I wouldn’t be heading down the same path that you’ve been trekking all your life — one of self and instant gratification without the need to justify the means nor the end that you’ll meet. That we’ll meet.

Let’s see how long this holds up before I’m back on the streets, cradling a shotgun under my bivvy bag in the middle of an Auckland winter with a needle in my arm and whiskey on my breath.

…because that’s how it always ends.

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Fun & InterestingI Will Survive

Avant Guardian.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

It’s a cold autumn morning, early in May, and we were making our way into a rural township some five klicks from the nearest checkpoint. Just the five of us trekking through a treeline and making haste for a derelict well. One of the guys fixed eyes on a silhouette sat beside a bucket; they were within speaking distance:

“Hello there. Can you hear me?”

The silhouette remained still. We surrounded them from both flanks as I moved forward and approached them. It was a girl no older than nine, wearing a mossy green overcoat and gumboots, with her hands bound together — an ANZAC poppy sat neatly on her lapel. A single laceration across her neck told us all we needed to know about how she’d ended up here.
Looking down the cobblestone path, the bodies of two adults lied motionless near a wrecked and ransacked sedan. All evidence pointed towards this being an attack by road bandits. Removing the cord from her wrists and fashioning shrouds from storefront drapes, we covered and placed the family of three behind the book store — time constraints did not permit for a proper burial. Using the licence we found in the male’s pocket, I erected a single cross for the fallen:

VICKERS FAMILY

~

Hours had passed, we’d been attacked by a well-organised group of bandits using police vehicles who’d tried to make this town their own. Each of them fell to our trained rifles and machine gun, one after the other. Darkness eventually came and the remainder of them deciding to bug-out while they still could. Carrying only my sidearm, I defended the local chapel as staunchly as I could. The rest of my group took up positions in the “Hunting & Fishing” store only 100 metres from where I was; an overturned tanker blocked off the rest of the street.

My radio sparked with life as the corporal informed me that they were headed back to the chapel. Peering through the hedges, I saw each of the four men exit the building and cross the street. One of the bodies lying on the ground moved as a loud exclamation echoed; with a single spark before an enormous detonation.

They were dead in the blink of an eye.

And then there was one. After an endless summer of revolution and destruction, where countless lives were lost in a struggle that even the milit’ry failed to understand, here I stood as the last remaining member of my unit. Earlier that day I’d decorated my helmet with the poppy from the Vickers girl; a fitting tribute for a soul whom life had stole much too early. It stood out against the background of camouflage, but that was the whole point — not just as a target, but an act of defiance.

…Onward unto this nightmare did I continue.

~

Damn dreams of mine… I told that one to my trick cyclist earlier this year and her eyes were wide with concern. Still, it beats the dream where I was stabbed to death by my great-grandfather.

Anyway… Have a good day, folks.

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General

In Sickness and Health // Till Death Rips Out Your Heart.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

Operator: 111 Emergency, what service do you require?
Me: *pants* Police… I need to report a robbery.
Operator: One moment, I’ll put you through to police area comms.

[Phone clicks, dialtones are heard, a person answers.]

Comms: Police, how can I assist you?
Me: …I’ve been robbed. A robbery.
Comms: Okay sir, are you in any immediate danger?
Me: No, I… I think she’s gone.
Comms: Okay, are you having any trouble maintaining this conversation or any coherence whatsoever?
Me: I have my faculties about me. I’ve been robbed — not lobotomised.
Comms: Of course, sir. Can you please describe the person who robbed you and how they managed to do so?
Me: 5′ 7″, 50 kilos soaking wet, long dark hair and eyes greener than the Emerald Isle. She… She took me by surprise. I didn’t expect it, not from her at least. She… stole my hea-

[Breathing becomes ragged, coughs up blood.]

Comms: Sir, can you hear me?
Me: *breathes heavily* My heart. She ripped out my fuckin’ heart.
Comms: Okay sir, I need you to take deep breaths and repeat what you just said to me for clarification.
Me: SHE RIPPED OUT MY FUCKING HEART!
Comms: Sir, try to remain calm. Help is on its way. Is… *shudders* Is your heart still attached to your body?
Me: No, she took off with it since she robbed me, remember? I have a baked potato hooked up to where my heart used to be.
Comms: You’re not making any sense right now, sir?
Me: Of course I’m not — the only reason I’m talking to you is because a veggie is keeping my blood pumping through some mystical bullshit, and this woman has run off with my heart to use in some Pagan ritual.

[Sirens are heard in the distance, growing closer at a great speed.]

Comms: Sir, an ambulance will be there to assist you shortly and a patrol car is accompanying them. Stay with me and inform me of any changes in your condition.
Me: You’re the boss…
Comms: What’s your name?
Me: Tom. My name’s Tom.
Comms: I’m Marcella. Nice to meet you, Tom.
Me: The pleasure’s all mine.

[The sirens abruptly stop, crashes are heard, two of them in rapid succession.]

Me: …the fuck is happening out there?
Comms: That’s odd. Both the ambo and squad car have gone off my screen. Can you see them, Tom?
Me: Kinda hard with all these buildings in the way, but I do see flashing lights.
Comms: Okay Tom, that’s them. Everything is going to be okay.
Me: Right… and I’m definitely not going to bleed out in ten minutes from a soggy potato.

[A police car fully alight rolls past the alleyway, followed by an ambulance smeared in blood.]

Me: Marcella, your ambo and patrol car just went past, but the cops and paramedics are all dead.
Comms: What?! Are y-you sure?
Me: Yes, ma’am. I think she’s on her way back to finish the job.
Comms: Who the hell is she?
Me: The Angel of Death with a body tighter than U.S. Border regulations.
Comms: [Muttering under her breath] This can’t be happening… This isn’t possible.
Me: Sweetheart, it’s happening. Hey, do me a favour and get the score from tonight’s rugby game etched on my headstone.
Comms: What’re you on about?! Tom? None of this makes any sense?!

[A loud howling followed by an unearthly screech is heard, the phone falls silent.]

Me: Took you long enough. You gonna give me back my heart or what, you miserable little *****?
Woman: *chews heartily* No darling — you’re not getting it back.
Me: Heh. You never could cook for yourself, and the times you did, I could swear someone had died in the process. That smell…
Woman: You really do like inciting violence upon yourself, don’t you?
Me: I’m kinky like that.

[The woman picks Tom up with one arm, poised to finish him off.]

Woman: Any last words, oh lover of mine?
Me: Remind your “daddy” not to send anymore messages without sealing them in a French letter. Oh, and you have stink feet.
Woman: *screams*

~

In nomine Doritos Dominus, et Filét, et S’ghetti & Meatballs.

Glory be to the Colonel, Wendy and Burger King.

Hail Wendy, full of taste, the horde shall visit thee
Blessed art thou among pensioners, and blessed is the funds of thy bank account
Holy Wendy, mother of Nom, pity us fatties, now and at the hour of our untimely death

Our Colonel, who art in Kentucky
Fatty be your game
To Kingdom come
Our waistlines done
Like pregnancy as it is when obese

Give us this day our daily bucket
And forgive us our Subway
As we forgive those who Subway against us
And lead us not from Jenny Craig
But deliver us from procrastination

Amen.

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General

Lovers’ Requiem // The End of an Error.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

(Excuse the fact that I’ve probably repeated myself a lot, any typos and grammatical/punctuation errors — I’m very tired, team.)

“Same as usual?” The bartender scrubbed down another mug whilst gazing over at me.

“…you know it”, I replied, with weary eyes and short yet unruly hair.

“Looks like you’ve been at it again. I don’t s’pose you managed to get away unscathed this time, eh?” Placing the mug down, she slid across my glass before leaning on one arm, staring at me.

“Oh no, they got a decent hit in. Took a souvenir from my mouth, along with a couple other discrepancies”. I threw back the shot — ensuring it didn’t touch my tongue — and sent a huge smile her way.

“Shit sweetie, I could park my car in that gap! I have to confess that I never thought I’d see you of all people with a missing tooth. Well, damn they must’ve really done a number on you”. She gave me a look of slight fear, before placing both her hands on top of my right hand.
“Stop trying to get yourself killed, Tom. You’re going to die anyway, so just take it easy and quit this whole ‘reckless abandon’ thing you’ve got going on”.

Within the blink of an eye, the woman in her late-twenties who’d served me countless drinks over the past four years had vanished, and their stood… her.

“You can’t be serious…” Looking around me then back at her, I brought my sanity into question over just how such an occurrence could be possible.
“I mean, yeah, you look pretty serious to me. But seriously… You… Of all people, you decide to show up here and now?” Wishing my glass would magically refill itself, I relented and finally made eye contact with her.

Those fuckin’ green eyes of her’s… I never could escape them.

“You’re really going to undo everything you did to stay alive within this one-fell swoop, and for what? A little peace and quiet? To end all the fighting?” She paused to glance away, pursing her lips to say more. I’ve never liked the sound of the Australian accent, but she’ll always be the exception. After the first words she ever sent my way, I noticed a complete change in tone with every word she sent after. She was, in the purest sense, ‘music to my ears’.
“What more could you have expected of a sly fox — a mere wild animal — but an issue for pest control and yet another reason to put your shotgun to good use?” Her voice became slightly hollow then faint as I closed my eyes, only to open them and see she’d seemingly vanished.
A sudden exhalation pierced my left ear; she sat on the stool beside me, her body facing mine.
“But unlike every other hunter, you did not shoot me. I gave you every reason that any one person would ever need to inflict violence upon another, and yet you didn’t”. She became visibly distraught with that remark. I turned to face her: first with only my head, and then with the rest of my body.

“You’re right — you did give me every reason, but the blame does not and never will rest entirely upon you. We were in this together, and in some sense we still are, but the fact remains that I had a hand in this also. To let you shoulder this all on your own would do the memory of you & me a great injustice”. I said this to her with my trademark gruff and ‘hideous’ westie twang.
“Maybe if we didn’t try hiding our true selves from one another to begin with, things could’ve been different. Well… they should’ve been different to be honest, but neither of us was accepting of such a change or willing to take that step back”. I sat myself up straight when delivering these specific words. She put herself upright in unison.

“…so now what? I’m here and only because deep inside you, you need me here. Spit it out, already”. Her face remained calm, her eyes still gleaming through the dimly lit pub.
“Why am I here, Tom?” She said. My heart sank, as I glanced away. She grabbed ahold of my hand, tracing around the wedding ring that would’ve been her’s.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, but I can’t be with the others unless you give me permission”. She looked perplexed and huffed with disbelief. I just fixed my eyes upon her’s, waiting for a response.
“Don’t you think I’ve been following your lead for far too long already? You may feel like it’s the other way around, but I only did what I had done because it was you who set the standard”. At first she squinted her eyes, ready to retaliate with some choice words of her own. But she exhaled sharply instead, smiling as she faced downwards, before looking back up.

“…and I s’pose I’m your ‘runner’ in this song of yours? I still remember how you introduced me to Lykke Li [Sidenote: How the fuck could she have not heard about her till this year?! Son of a biscuit…] and I get the feeling that, once again, you’re going to use a song and/or its lyrics against me”. She now placed her hands on my chest, moving them to my shoulders and fixing her eyes with mine.
“My word still stands: you die, I die. I can pretend like you dying won’t do anything to me, but I know just as well as you do that it’ll fuck me up. This ‘deep sea’ is going to drown the both of us; not just you”. She paused to shift my hand away from my forehead, placing our palms up against each other, our fingers joining our hands as one.

Both pairs of our hands were now fused together. She removed her jandals to stand up on her tippy-toes: her delicate feet pushing into my worn dress shoes. For once, my foot wasn’t in pain. Blinking my eyes to glance down, I recoiled ever so slightly at seeing my shoes now mirror shined and in one piece. The pub had given way to a grassy hill with only a lone tree and a cool summer’s breeze as our surroundings. My trusty suit replaced with that of my khaki service dress uniform — lemon squeezer hat with red infantry band and general service badge, name plate with single ribbon, and white ’37 pattern belt fitted above my waist. Looking towards the front after piecing together the clothing I now wore, I let out a sigh of pleasure.
Still pressed up on her toes, her hair waved down to her waist and tapered off both shoulders. Her smile gave light to her neat summer dress, with a frangipani nestled atop her ear and my dogtags around her neck. We both smiled at each other, happy to see that we were once again — and for perhaps the last time — whole. Without uttering a word, she leapt up to wrap her legs around my waist, my arms shifted to below her thighs and on the back of her neck.

Posed in the very same manner in which we had first met in the physical sense, and running our hands across the other’s face, I removed my hat to place my head against her’s. With one last look into each other’s eyes and readying to have one final kiss, I took in a small gasp of air and produced my parting words:

“Dark doom honey; I follow you“.

~

…and that, folks, is why I’ll never love again. Not because I can’t; but only because I won’t.

T.

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General

Who was I, but a lonesome rogue — where you were seeking eternal rest.

by Shephard
written by Shephard

image

I woke up last night at exactly 0249hrs — the exact moment that the figure of beauty you see in front of you decided to call me after six months of no contact. I’m not going into specifics because right now I’m fucking tired and…for the first time since she died, I’ve decided to read what the news sites etc had to say about the events surrounding her death.

My point stands — it was no accident, and she knew what she’d gotten herself in to.

She wasn’t an idiot, but we can all be stupid at times. Especially to compromise herself in such a way with…a deranged fuckin’ creep… Taunting a woman who only wanted to go home and locking her on the balcony?! He is sick, and any man who sees women purely as conquests and/or objects of desire needs to have their face peeled back and slowly retreaded by a 70 tonne tank.

Not many people can truly attest to the wonderful soul that she was, and I’m eternally grateful for the friendship that I did share with her. Had I known she was on the GC — I’d have been there in a tickle.

Because, sadly…I have a family member who stays in that very same apartment block and was just clocking off her shift the night those tragic events went down…and if I was there, my leg was good and some ************ dared threaten my friend like that..?! I would’ve done a whole lot of sick shit to that **** face ************, that’s what… And I know some very colourful ways to redecorate an interior using human organs thanks to my time in the service.

~~~~~~~~

I’m never going to forget you, W. I never did to begin with, but like I said — you’re the one who got the ball rolling to begin with, so I needed you to throw it back in so we could get back to business.

…I’m just glad you didn’t forget me. That’s all. I know I shouldn’t hurt like this as I never earned the right to; but I do. Anyway, I’m going to cry myself to fuckin’ sleep now…dreaming of the day I get to take to that fuckwit with my fighting knife and tear his meatsuit back like he were road kill and I was one hungry motherfuckin’ wanderer.

W — you know I didn’t mean what I said for that split second, which is why you let me explain myself for six months, yeah? I accept that you’re gone now. I just wish you didn’t have to take a violent exit like my father did.

You will hold the distinction as the first woman to ever bring me to tears when you spoke to me on that fateful Waitangi evening. I know you said that “…it means you have a heart”, but the truth is I’d never felt a connection like the one I had with you that night in my life before. As it stands, and always will stand — I will never feel it again.

My last and solemn promise to you is that I will visit your grave and pay my last respects before hopefully seeing you again once I punch my own ticket. I’m not sure what kind of flowers you’d like, but I’ll leave you my grenade pin necklace and I will salute you as a soldier when I leave your grave site. Not just any civilian is ever afforded such an honour, but you sure as Sherlock deserve it.

Damn you, W… I’m fucking crying now… And…I know you didn’t want to believe me because why would anyone begin to…but I did love you. I do love you.

I will always love you, my dear friend. And you owe me a fuckin’ drink if I ever see you again!!!

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